A Bittersweet Moment in Time
by fangirlMasquerade
Summary: The aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies is bittersweet. Bitter for all the lost. Sweet for the new friendships gained through the hardships born of this great battle. Bard has had a taste of the sweet, and wants to hold fast to that. Thranduil shared in that taste, but all too soon for an immortal will it turn bitter for the Elvenking. Barduil


Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or any characters associated with them; They belong to their rightful owner J.R.R. Tolkien. We just borrow them to play. *winks* -Tahleruil is mine.  
My Elvish sucks. Tolkien forgive me. *sobs*

A/N: This! Was the very first LotR/Hobbit fanfic idea I ever had, before I wrote my first one. I threw this idea out the window originally, but I just could not stop myself from thinking of Thranduil/Bard. So, anyway, I didn't think there would be anyone interested, but... I found other ficlets of these two! :D Imagine my utter joy at that! So I immediately wrote this up while watching the Battle of the Five Armies tonight before bed. My original idea for my first LotR/Hobbit fanfic, finally written. I hope it's enjoyable to read!

 **If my Sindarin is wrong, do not be rude about it. Please either politely correct me, or kindly tell me what does not exist and I will replace it with English/edit the scene. Thanks**

• _Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni:_ "You lift up my heart when you look at me"

• _Hîr nín:_ "My lord"

• _Le hannon:_ "Thank you"

• _Unad nuithatha i nîr e-guren nalú aderthad vín:_ "Nothing will stop the weeping of my heart until our reunion"

• _Navaer:_ "Farewell"

* * *

 **A Bittersweet Moment in Time**

Dale was ripe with both death and life. The death of those lost during the Battle of the Five Armies, but also with the life of those that survived; with those that were going to survive. Even now, just days after the battle, Bard stood in the entrance of an elaborately decorated elven tent and watched life filling the streets of Dale.

The elves had not left Dale after the battle, as many would have thought. Even this man had thought the elves would leave once the battle won. There were several moments during the battle that it would seem as though they would up and leave the people of Lake-town at the order of their temperamental king.

A smile tugged at the man's lips at the thought of the Elvenking. He was blessed with the rare sight of seeing Thranduil fighting in all his elven grace. It had been terrifyingly beautiful to watch. Graceful movements, deft accuracy - it had been like watching an ethereal being that did not deserve to be in this evil filled realm.

He watched now, as elves and man worked side by side to repair the ruin the battle had wrought. The elves did not look at them in disdain, in fact, Bard had noticed with surprise, that the elves looked at the people of Lake-town with curiosity. A simple, innocent curiosity like a child's.

It was refreshing to say the least. The last thing Bard wanted was to have a tense air about Dale between elves and man. Especially since he was now deemed as king of Dale. It had been awkward enough when Thranduil first arrived with his warriors at his back. Bard had never before lay eyes upon the Elvenking of Mirkwood, though he had descriptions from the few elves he had met and spoken with over the years.

Still, more so the very sight of this beautiful being had taken his breath away than the aid he had brought for his people. Of course, thankfully the Elvenking had mistook his breathlessness as surprise of their help.

Lost in thought, Bard did not take notice of the movement behind him. A hand snaked it's way around his neck, and he would have tensed if he had not known well the source of such a smooth, delicate yet powerful hand that now moved it's way down into the front of his tunic. With a gentle but unyielding strength known only to elves, Bard was pulled back out of the tent's entrance.

Then the sunlight that had been filtering through was cut off, the tie holding open the tent's entrance snapped with a quick flick of a wrist.

Bard smiled, but he did not move yet. Elves were fickle creatures, and no one in all of Arda could make an elf do what they did not want to do. But Bard no longer rolled over for anyone, least of all a Sinda that he had already _taken_. He would have Thranduil come to him for what he wanted, just to see the fire burning in the elf's eyes at having to do something himself and not have another bend to his will.

It had become a game.

It first started just before the battle. The two had of course immediately began discussing matters concerning what was to come, Thranduil as king of the Mirkwood elves, and Bard as the new leader of people of Lake-town. It was of necessity that they spoke. Bard learned of what the Elvenking was like during those hours.

It was...an interesting learning experience, to say the least. Bard caught himself stealing glances at the elf, admiring his beauty. His mind wandered to places it had not been to since the death of his wife. And the fact that it was wandering there for this elf-lord was startling, but he quickly ignored that.

Besides, he had thought, what would a regal, beautiful Sinda such as king Thranduil want from a lowly mortal man that was only known as Bard? Sure, he had become a king overnight, but only because his people trusted him and he had helped lead them into victory and had fought for them.

He did not think slaying a dragon was something to base his rule off of, though everyone -including Thranduil himself- praised him for his work at ridding the land of Smaug. He had only done what he knew was right and had done what he thought any father would do to save his children that day.

Still the people of Lake-town made him their new ruler. And now he was king of Dale, and apparently caught the sight of one silvery-blonde haired Sinda.

The man noticed, all too soon how Thranduil _requested_ his presence for one reason or another during those hours before the battle. How the elf would look at him. The look was far different than how any of the other elves looked at him, even now, days after the battle, they did not share the same look in their eyes as Thranduil did when staring at the bowman.

So after the battle, when things were still crazy but not so life threatening, Bard began testing the waters. He would move out of the king's sight, distinctly moving toward the left when he noticed an odd tilt of the elf's head that would allow his right eye better sight. He moved to see if he would turn and follow him with his gaze. He always did.

Thranduil in turn, as he poured a glass of his wine for Bard, would hold it out, but not at arm's length. He would hold it closer to his body, forcing Bard to step close and take it. He always did.

The two danced around one another like this. It was a secret dance only the two shared while the rest of Arda was oblivious. For Bard, it had been a long time since he shared in this dance. At least to his mortal life it had been a long time. He could only imagine how many others an immortal elf like Thranduil had danced with like this in his long life.

He dared not even think of how old the elf truly was. He dared not think of how he was a mere blink to Thranduil. It would have ruined the taste he was relishing in, like a once fine wine turning sour. So it was to Bard's surprise, -or more or less Thranduil's surprise- when the impatience of man came to life and he turned to the Elvenking not a moon's past, forcing the elf back and claiming his lips.

And the elf looked completely stricken with surprise and confusion, like he had not been expecting the dance to come to a head at all. The elf was reluctant, at first. His pride was holding him back, and what Bard thought was hesitance at letting a mortal man press the advantage on this dance.

In reality, it was the realization as to what Thranduil wanted and what he knew he would ultimately lose.

At first, Thranduil entertained the idea, the bowman and his dance simply out of amusement. Then, after the battle, he did it do ease the blow of the loss of his people, and more so the loss of his son whom had left him. Not in death, but gone from him nonetheless.. He did not realize it would just bring more bitterness in the end, for his affection of this one mortal man did become, in a sense, genuine where he had not expected it to.

Now, though, those dark thoughts were not in Thranduil's mind. He was growing impatient with Bard as the man refused to turn to meet his gaze. He knew what he was playing at, but damned if he didn't try his hardest to make Bard give in first. He stood at Bard's back, his hand down the man's tunic while his free hand ran up the man's arm.

His lips were mere inches from Bard's ear. " _Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni._ " He whispered, and it sent a shiver down Bard's back.

"What?" He asked, falling into Thranduil's trap. He had to ask, he did not know any form of Elvish, so he was forced into asking what the Sinda had said. He silently cursed himself for playing into the cunning elf's hand again.

"I will tell you what I said, if you turn to face me, Bard the dragonslayer." Thranduil mused, a smirk on his gorgeous face.

Grumbling, Bard was reluctant. But his curiosity was going to win out, it always did. He finally gave in after just a moment's thought, and turned to meet the elf's sharp gaze. He looked up at Thranduil, once again taking stock of how truly beautiful this elf in particular was. It would be wrong for this mortal man to _not_ admire Thranduil each time he was graced with looking at him.

"I said," Thranduil began, tracing the bowman's jaw with one long slender finger. "You lift up my heart when you look at me." He smiled an infuriating smile.

Bard rolled his eyes, but his smile was genuine and pure. There was no mock there or in his eyes. "If that is the case, then perhaps I should simply keep my eyes upon you, my lord Thranduil." He smirked and reached up, twisting a strand of the silvery-blonde hair between his fingers. It was soft like silk to the touch. His own hair must have been worse than the coarsest of horse hair when compared to the elf's.

"Perhaps you should. I would not have to work so hard to get your attention then." The elf mused in response, letting the man touch his hair. Any other and he would have cut them down for trying, but he allowed this mortal the privilege. His life was short enough, and he was one of the very few men that were worth bestowing upon them an Eldar's affection.

He was truly noble, truly honorable. He loved his people, his children. He fought for them in the front lines. He would have died for them. He did not take more than what he needed to live. He had a heart that did not deserve to be so short lived. Thranduil would dearly miss this human when he passed.

For this short moment in time though, he would enjoy the man's presence.

Bard cast a glance over his shoulder at the only entrance this tent had. When he was sure it was closed, and he did not hear anyone approaching, he turned his attention back to the Elvenking. And then he reached up and pulled the elf's robes off his shoulders, letting them fall and pool around the Sinda's bare feet.

Elves were not effected by weather, so Bard was not surprised Thranduil did not even shiver. For a man such as Bard, if he were exposed this early in the cool morning, even within the safety of a tent he would be shivering. Thranduil stood rather proudly. Of course, he had the perfect body of an elf. Why not be proud of such a thing?

Bard found himself mildly jealous, but it was a small feeling and quickly faded. He was not ashamed of himself in the least bit, even when in the presence of this type of perfection. He reached up and traced a few muscles, all the while looking at Thranduil evenly in his eyes. There was a glint of amusement in the elf's eyes, but something else, mainly in his left eye.

Despite the glint that was there, Bard noticed there seemed to be...nothing. No true life within that eye. The shine did not seem to be as alive, though there. He idly wondered about it, about what the elf hid, but he figured it was really none of his business in the end.

" _Hîr nín_ , Thranduil." A voice came from the tent's entrance. Bard knew that voice, it was one of Thranduil's warriors, a dark haired elf by the name of Tahleruil.

The Elvenking pulled his robes back on and stepped around Bard, seemingly all in one fluid motion, like water moving around a stone. And that's what Bard felt like in this moment. A stone trying to meet the grace of water, only to be ignored and passed by as the water continued it's flow.

He sighed, and glanced over his shoulder. He did not understand a word they were saying as they spoke in their native language. He did not even try to understand. Instead, he turned and walked over to the bed within the tent. It was Thranduil's bed, but Bard had been given the exceedingly rare gift of laying in it with the Elvenking. _After I took him._ He thought with a wry grin as he laid back.

To his dying day, he would most definitely cherish the passion, the heat, the feelings he had with the elf. His only regret was that he would one day leave the immortal elf as an old, withered man. He could not even imagine what elves thought when they looked at someone they knew once as young and fit, and then in a few short years be old and weathered. He threw his arm over his eyes to get the image out of his head.

" _Le hannon_." Thranduil closed the tent's entrance once more after he had finished with Tahleruil. He turned and looked at Bard, finding the man upon his bed, sprawled out in obvious comfort.

Bard suddenly felt a weight shift the bed, and then a firm, lithe body pressing into him. He removed his arm and peered at the elf lying next to him, soaking in the natural glow of the Eldar. "What was that about?" He questioned, his eyes wandering along the length of the elf's body until he found the elf's face.

"He was informing me they will be taking the wounded and dead back to Mirkwood now that they have gathered them all. I, too, should take my leave soon." Thranduil said, stroking his long fingers through Bard's wavy dark locks. It was a very rare thing for elves to have wavy hair, so to him he rather liked being able to pet it the way he was now.

It felt different, but good under the elf's smooth hand, between his fingers. At least when it was clean, of course.

Bard started at this. He was not sure he was prepared for the elf's departure so soon. It had been too short, even for a mortal's standards. "You are leaving." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. A sad statement on the man's part.

"I cannot stay away from my people for long. I will leave some of my warriors to continue their support, and send supplies once I have returned to Mirkwood." Thranduil turned his piercing gaze on the human. He had not missed the sudden sadness in his voice, and he was not surprised. He was surprised when he himself had felt dismayed.

He admittedly did not want to leave. Or, rather, he was not ready to leave. Mortal lives were so short as is. Being away from him meant even less time with him. But he could not abandon his people, his duties as king of the Silvan Elves, not for a single mortal man.

"I understand." Bard said, knowing full well what Thranduil needed to do. He himself had duties now as well as the new king of Dale. He paused for a moment, thinking over his words carefully. He looked down at Thranduil, and offered a smile. " _Le hannon_. For everything you have done." He said. It was his first time using the Elvish language, so he was a bit worried he said it wrongly.

The raised eyebrow and the smirk he received was not comforting on whether or not he had gotten it right.

"I like the sound of my language coming from your voice, Bard the dragonslayer. It pleases my ears." Thranduil said after a moment. The grin he received was humorous and he closed his eyes with a slight smile gracing his features.

And they lay there for several moments, in the silence of the chilled morning. Bard knew he needed to get up for the day and begin working after he checked on his children, though he had an inkling of a thought that his children were occupied by trailing after elves around Dale and helping others. His children had grown a fondness for the elves and enjoyed their presence.

Bard had not taken his eyes off of Thranduil, watching as the elf seemingly fell asleep. He somehow knew that the Elvenking was not asleep, but still one could be fooled into thinking as such with the steady rise and fall of his chest, the peacefulness of his expression.

" _Why do you lie there, So still, Elvenking? Morning has come, And sun is reigning. When will you hold me again, Elvenking? Night time has come, And I'm still waiting._ "

It was sudden, soothing, surprising. Thranduil's eyes snapped open and he stared at the man leaning over him. No one had sung to him since his wife, and his heart lurched at the pleasant words and rhythm in which Bard had sung them to him -for him. His expression was of mild surprise. Thranduil did not have the heart to say a word, to break the spell that had settled around them.

It would have ruined this bittersweet moment in time, so neither moved, just stared, and Thranduil did not utter a word as Bard sang for the Sinda.

 **xoxo**

Two days pass, the elven warriors had taken their injured and dead back to Mirkwood before Thranduil himself left. Another cool morning, and they did not get to share it together as their duties to their own people tore them apart. Neither complained of that, though. As Thranduil mounted a horse given to him to ride back to Mirkwood, Bard stepped up to him. "Leaving?" The man asked.

"Yes. It is time for me to return to my kingdom." The elf replied, looking down at the man from atop his mount, much like how he had done the first time they met before the battle. There was not awe in the man's eyes this time, though. There was a sadness this time. "I will return soon, though, once I am sure things are settled in my realm." He reassured the man, and a light returned to Bard's eyes.

Thranduil would bring better aid to this man in rebuilding Dale. And he would use that reason as an excuse to visit more often.

Nodding, Bard offered a smile and reached up, taking the elf's hand. "I can never repay you for all you have done for us. For me, my children, and my people." He squeezed the elf's hand.

After a short pause, Thranduil tilted his head to get a better look at Bard through his good eye, a mischievous spark shining in the depths of his blue-grey eyes. "There is one thing you can do for me in thanks. I wish to hear something said in your voice, in my language."

Bard was a little taken aback, it was an odd request. But elves were by no means normal in the eyes of mortals, so he nodded his head. "I will try. What is it?" He asked, still gripping the Sinda's hand, refusing to let go until he absolutely had to.

" _Unad nuithatha i nîr e-guren nalú aderthad vín_." Coming from Thranduil it sounded like poetry, the words falling from his lips with a grace like some enchanting spell. It could have been an insult, a threat, or nonsense. It was still beautiful.

Bard had no idea what he had just said, not having heard it by anyone else. But he digested the words, thought them over, repeated them in his head for several moments. Thranduil did not move or repeat himself, simply waited on Bard with an unreadable expression on his face.

Finally, after several long moments, Bard took a breath and looked to Thranduil, meeting his gaze evenly. " _Unad nuithatha i nîr e-guren nalú aderthad vín_." It was not as smooth as when Thranduil said it, but still, the accent of the Sindarin language mixed within the Bard's own accent was very pleasing to Thranduil's ears. The words themselves he cherished even more than the sound of them being spoken.

"What do the words mean?" Bard asked suddenly, breaking Thranduil from his thoughts.

The elf just smiled. "I will tell you, upon our next meeting, Bard the dragonslayer, king of Dale." He dipped his head just the slightest, and squeezed the man's hand before pulling his free and gripping the reins of his horse. " _Navaer_. Until we next meet." He turned his mount's head and kicked his heels, the stallion whinnying and trotting off out of Dale.

Bard watched after the elf as his children stepped up behind him and waved after the elf. He wrapped his arms around them and they watched the Elvenking leave Dale. His heart sunk, a silent ache beginning to work it's way to the surface. Nothing to be done for it, though, until he was again in the presence of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood.

Thranduil did not look back once. He mused over this moment in time. He would look forward to seeing the man again. This moment in time would be quick for the Sinda, unfortunately. But like all elves, he would never forget it. Another soon to be memory he would hold onto. For now he would enjoy it.

Especially when he revealed what the saying he had Bard repeat. _Nothing will stop the weeping of my heart until our reunion._ He thought of the words spoken in his language and the sound of Bard's voice speaking them. Just something to add to the bittersweet moment in time. And like all of his memories, the Elvenking would hold onto this one dearly.

Sweet though the meeting, bitter would be their parting. Such is how things were between immortals and mortals.

 _ **Fin**_

* * *

A/N: A sad fate, but a good memory to add to Thranduil's collection? Well, a nice image in my head anyway. ;) So if there are any Barduil fans, leave a review to let me know how I did and if you'd be interested in anymore of these two! This is my first time writing for Bard.

Also, a little bit of trivia for you all who found their way to this story! The song Bard sang to Thranduil. It's a song sung by Farmer Giles, a character in the video game Fable II. I improvised "Pretty lady" for "Elvenking". XD But anyway, Giles may have been inspired by the book Farmer Giles of Ham, a book by Tolkien! So I couldn't resist but to throw that in there. ;)  
Anyway, Namarie for now!


End file.
